


The Morning After

by impalawinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Past Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impalawinchester/pseuds/impalawinchester
Summary: "Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are 'It might have been.'" - Kurt VonnegutAfter a night with Dean Winchester, the reader has an interesting conversation with Sam, and maybe her life will finally take a turn for the better.





	The Morning After

You woke up next to the guy from last night – Dean? – with a pounding headache and a sore body. You groaned and rolled over to see the clock: 9 A.M. Sighing, you picked yourself up and out of bed, over to the bathroom, and even when you tore the motel room apart for ten minutes in an attempt to locate your purse, your one-night stand didn’t rouse from his alcohol-induced slumber. 

You finally snagged his keys from the bedside table and decided it must be outside – the muscle car he drove was absolutely ridiculous in daylight – and you left him. He was a good time, for sure. But did you want to see him without alcohol’s edge blurring all you had chosen to ignore in the night? Nope. Not one bit. 

And Dean certainly didn't need to see you with dark make up smeared and even darker circles under your eyes. Especially because, by the view you had of him now, sprawled across the sheets in all his pale, muscular glory, hair mused from your hands and snoring softly, he still looked like a Greek fucking god. 

And anyway, if you stayed, then you'd probably have to tell Dean your name. He had called you sweetheart all night after you refused to tell him who you were, but it would be uncomfortable to enforce your little rule in daylight.

You unlocked the door on the driver’s side and leaned across the bench seat – was your purse on the floor? – but someone sat up in the back and you let out a yelp, bumping your head on the roof of the car in the process. That someone was drowsy and shaggy and too big for his sleeping quarters, but he was looking at you with mild amusement. 

“Is my purse back there?” you asked. The last thing you needed was this guy telling you how much it pissed him off that his friend sex-iled him to the car and how he had a crick in his neck from sleeping at an angle. Why couldn't you manage to slip out in the morning quietly, stoically, cinematic-ly - it could be straight out of that Bob Segar song. (The Fire Inside?) 

And so a night of drunk fun had quickly turned sour, and even though it was no surprise, it sucked. But if you were being honest with yourself, the one-night-stands always left you cold and alone, and the only thing that changed about them was how you convinced yourself that it was going to feel different, be different. Followed by you pulling on your big girl pants and shortly thereafter allowing them to be yanked off by some hammered moron. 

“Uh, yeah. Pretty sure my brother doesn’t own a leather-fringed hippie satchel,” he said in an amused, gravelly voice, as he pushed his hair back from his face. 

One-night-stand’s brother handed it over, you averted your eyes, and offered up the keys in exchange. 

“Thanks,” you said, even though you really had nothing to thank him for. All you wanted was to leave the whole affair behind before Dean woke up and discovered you were swiftly moving in on the rest of the family. At least it wouldn’t be outlandish – this guy was as gorgeous as his brother, but in a different way. Where Dean was stocky and freckled and clean-cut, his brother was lanky with longer hair and tanned skin and a lopsided smirk. You kicked yourself for lingering. 

So you patted the top of the seat as he yawned and saluted him au revoir before you started walking back into town towards the bar where hopefully your car was still parked, bag slung over your shoulder, sunlight adding to your headache. At the very least you had gotten a few good hours out of the whole event, then a couple of hours of sleep curled up next to someone, and a nice walk to sweat out the alcohol - and you had lived to see another day, which might not have felt great at the moment - but it beat death. And it beat the life you'd ran away from. 

“Hey, wait,” the brother called. For the love of all that was good, what now? When you turned, he was jogging towards you, and when he caught up to you, he pushed his hair out of his face again and gulped – was it possible the beautiful creature before you got nervous around women? You smirked a little at his dorkyness, a trait you'd always been fond of but at the moment you weren't too keen. The last thing you needed was someone shy and timid - you were already those things. 

“Yeah?” you asked and crossed your arms. Could this guy please just leave you be? Serious concern was growing that Dean would discover you still hanging around in the motel parking lot like a creep. 

“Did my brother – uh, do anything to you?” he pushed out, brows gathering over his eyes. You raised yours in response. 

“That’s generally how sex works…” you answered and laughed a little. He laughed a little, too, but it was uneasy. You willed him to spit out whatever was chewing at him.

“Yeah, I know, I just mean, if he crossed a line…?” he finally looked up and met your eyes. Your head cocked involuntarily to the side. What the hell was this guy’s deal?

“Uh, no. It was consensual. If that’s what you mean.” He nodded several times and you turned to escape again, but that time, you were escaping much more than his brother still in the motel room - you were escaping his piercing eyes that were unsettling and watching you carefully. You didn't need someone to care about you; that ship had sailed long ago.

“It’s just that you look upset,” he tried and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was kind of adorable, in his awkward, long-limbed way, and you hated to admit it. 

“I’m fine…” you started, and he finished the sentence with a flustered ‘Sam.’ 

“Okay, green eggs and ham, this has been fun, but I best be gone before your brother wakes up,” you said and took a step backwards, silently begging that he’d let you go without his conscience getting in the way because you were dangerously close to breaking down in front of mystery man Sam simply because he’d made sure you were okay and he slept crunched up in the backseat of a car so his brother could get laid and he had bedhead and a little mole next to his nose and your fragile condition had to be visible through your weak armor especially with those eyes staring you down – 

“Okay. Yeah, okay.” A breath poured out of you and with it went your defense so you spun around before the tears started falling, which they did, but he spoke again: 

“I wish you’d met me first, instead.” You stopped, answered with your back to him.

“Yeah, well, of mice and men.” 

“What might have been still could be,” Sam said and you halted. Turned to look at him, and you were met with someone new, confident, intelligent. Sam was smirking, finally having an upper hand. 

“You know Vonnegut.” He nodded. You felt yourself melting for it, like they way you used to. 

"I like to read," he said with a smile. 

“You've seen shit.” It wasn't a question. He shrugged, smile vanished. You wanted to bring it back.

“So have you. We're even.” And there you were: both feeling vulnerable and exposed after the shenanigans of the previous night, knowing the other would be gone by dusk, probably - but with Sam? You didn't know why for sure, but you didn't mind feeling like that. You wanted to let him see how fucked-up you were. You needed someone to know. 

"What do we do now?" you asked a little breathlessly as he took a step towards you. 

"Well, you can tell me your name." Sam looked down to hide his smile. You liked dorky Sam and his slight embarrassment and the way her drew his shoulders up to make himself seem smaller. You liked him and even though that felt dangerous you found yourself unable to care. So you let go, for once, and you gave away the one fact about you that Dean didn't know, your ID didn't say, your brain had almost forgotten from lack of using it. 

"(Y/N)."


End file.
